


Syrup & Self-Loathing

by writetherest



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writetherest/pseuds/writetherest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Self-loathing has always been easier for him than hatred of others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Syrup & Self-Loathing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for West Wing Pumpkins.

He's known Ann for a long time. He met her when he was much younger, and far more idealistic. The years have changed him, and, as he's found out today, her. He wants to hate her. Her and her can of maple syrup and the way she played him so damn well. But he can't seem to stir up that particular emotion.

He hates himself without question. Self-loathing has always been easier for him than hatred of others. But her… her, he just can't manage. The anger is there, burning within him. But every time he thinks it will blossom into full blown hatred, images of the past assault him and pour water over the flame.

He sees her, long blonde hair, and big, innocent eyes, on their first meeting. Charming smile and a way with words that fascinated him. He should've known then, should've realized that he was on a collision course, that it would all end badly some day. But she'd seemed so benign. He'd fucked her in the bedroom of her all-girls dorm room while her roommate studied in the other room. She hadn't made a sound, but the marks she'd left on his skin burned for days after. A foreshadowing he should've recognized.

A few years passed until he saw her again. Her hair was shorter, her eyes harder. They were both working on campaigns that were failing. They spent their hours holed up in little bars, drinking bourbon and arguing politics, but never discussing the tall woman who sat in the corner and watched them with something akin to disapproval. She never asked if he was fucking her, but she saw them leave together on occasion and she knew. The nights he took her back to his hotel room, the tall woman never even flinched. The marks were even deeper this time, as though marking her territory, although it was never hers to mark. When the elections grew nearer, they hit the trail, headed in different directions. They never said goodbye.

More time passed and by the time they crossed paths again there was a band of gold on his finger, a redhead on his arm, and a hardness that had cemented in her eyes. They weren't idealistic anymore, that was for sure. They made polite small talk, and she teased him with a bit more familiarity than she should've, but if his wife minded the touches, she never let on. She didn't let on much, the redhead who had won his heart, but her actions spoke volumes when she encircled Ann's wrist with her fingers and led her to the car with them. This time, it was Andrea Wyatt who marked her territory and branded Ann with a metaphorical scarlet letter. In the morning, they ate pancakes together, and she kissed syrup off both Toby and Andy's lips before she left, again without a goodbye.

It's those images he sees when he thinks of her, those images now superimposed over the last image, the last meeting, where she'd played him so badly. He should've seen it coming, especially now, after everything else has fallen apart. But he didn't. And that's why he hates himself, far more than he could ever hate her. She's been playing these games from the moment he met her. He just hadn't realized it until now.  



End file.
